


Twenty Minutes of Oxygen

by keelover



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Season 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelover/pseuds/keelover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny could help him. He could ease the pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Minutes of Oxygen

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/3353.html?thread=3259929#t3259929) on the [Teenwolfkink](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/) .

Jackson's bottom lip trembled. A shuttering breath forced itself from within his lungs, and it burned endlessly. A sweat broke out across his entire body, eyes unfocused as he struggled. A need rose within him, something pounding within his skull, urging him forward. The lack of control was ripping him apart, seam by seam.

Three days was an extensive amount of time to be in the condition he was in. A second, an hour, everything grew and expanded, threatening to burst through his skin and reveal what it was he truly looked like inside. Jackson wasn't fine, he was far from it, even if he was a monster. A hated, murdering monster. A puppet with invisible strings.

No one would help him. Jackson didn't want their help, but god, he felt like he was being tortured to death, and he was. The pain, it was all he could focus on, night and day. The fluttering of his lids, the cracks of his dry lips, it all hurt. A breeze felt like a paper cut; an accidental brush of skin sliced through like the sharpest of blades. 

A ticking echoed around his empty head; too tormented to think. A series of lies escaped his lips, nothing was real to him. A beacon of hope shone through a second story window. If there was one person who could help, it was _him_. Danny. 

Jackson's lifeline to a world that tried to hurt him; that was hurting him. A rasp, harsh breath struggled again as he moved nearer. Danny would help him; he could end the pain. The front door wasn't an option as he leaped into the air seamlessly, not human. God, he wasn't right. 

Danny was more than a little startled, and equally perplexed. A worried expression took reign over his strong features as Jackson climbed in through his window. Jackson saw his image reflected in the mirror adorned on Danny's closet, and was haunted to see how pale he was—sickly. Danny moved forward only to step back, a turn to his lips that signaled his indecisiveness. “You look like you need to go to the hospital, Jackson,” he said, turning around, presumably to grab his coat. 

“No,” Jackson said, voice low and torn. Trembling fingers clutched at Danny's shirt, motioning him to stop whatever course he intended to go down. “I need you,” he said, each word stealing more breath from him. 

“Jackson, man, you look like death,” Danny said, attempting to pull away from him. A futile attempt on his part. Jackson may not have been a werewolf, but he was something equally as strong, if not stronger. That wasn't Jackson, though, it wasn't him, and it hurt. 

“Kiss me,” he said, desperation prominent in his eyes. The rings dark, comparable to trees cut down and used for human consumption; wasted oxygen. “Please. Kiss me. I don't want to take it anymore,” Jackson said, he hadn't noticed the wetness of his eyes until Danny had wiped it away. 

“Are you drunk?”

“I'm hurting. Make it stop,” Jackson said, pleading. Jackson didn't plead, but the monster, the thief, the dead thing inside him scratched and clawed, bit and tore at his insides. Jackson wanted it to stop, and only one person could help him. Danny. 

Insomnia. 

“Jackson, you're scaring me. What's wrong?” Danny asked, unable to remove Jackson's hand from his shoulder. Jackson didn't want to hurt him; he wouldn't hurt him. Jackson didn't want to hurt people, not like that. The puppet master did, though, pulling at the lines hooked into the blisters of his back—into his soul. 

“I can't explain. I can't. I _can't_. I need you,” he said, other hand smoothing up Danny's back to rest at the base of his neck.

“And Lydia can't help you?”

“I couldn't. I'd hurt her.”

“You'd hurt her? Jackson, what does that even mean?”

“I'd hurt her because I wouldn't be able to hold back. I care about her, but not enough.”

“Why would you hurt anyone, Jackson? Let me take you to the hospital,” Danny said, voice reasonably calm. Jackson could hear his heart rate pick up, he was anxious. A sharp pain pried between his ribs, separating meat from bone, pure agony seeping in from every which direction.

Jackson shook his head, leaning forward to capture Danny's mouth with his own. Their foreheads touched as their mouths separated. “You're the only one who can help me,” he said. 

Danny's heart rate picked up again, apprehension clear in the way he smelled. Jackson licked his lips, dipping his head forward, he met Danny head on. Reluctant, Danny kissed back, igniting the repressed lust held captive within Jackson's stomach and setting it free. Jackson shoved Danny into the wall adjacent from them, more forceful than he had intended. Danny's fear spiked, and Jackson pulled away, struggling for air; struggling for control. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, watered down eyes gazing into his. Jackson's hand slid up under Danny's tee shirt, warm skin against scorching flesh. “I want this. Please, say you want me.”

Danny let out a stilted breath, chest rising and falling in rapid secession. A thread of arousal unraveled itself, and Jackson keened in pure relief. When Jackson kissed him again, Danny reciprocated in turn. A chill fled through Jackson's body, cooling some of the heat, giving him more air to breathe. Danny's mouth tasted of spice and sickly sweet things, artificial taste leaving more to be desired. 

Jackson pinned Danny's body flat against the wall, hands roaming all that they could, too fast and too hot to linger. Jackson's hands grabbed a hold of Danny's ass, thumbs hooked into the elastic of his boxer briefs as he brought their hips together, arousal prominent as he thrust forward, grinding shamelessly against the other teen as a throaty noise escaped the confines of Danny's throat. Jackson licked a strip up the side of Danny's neck, the desire to sink his teeth in all too high. A taste for blood flooding his mouth, making him salivate. Jackson wouldn't hurt him.

Jackson pressed his mouth against Danny's ear, lips wet and sloppy as his warm voice carried over the suffocating silence. “I want you to fuck me,” he said, low and wanting. Danny's breath hitched, stomach tensing under his touch. Jackson couldn't take from anyone if he was the one being taken from. 

“Jackson...”

“No hesitations,” he said, removing his person as he moved towards Danny's bed. The comforter was pulled half way down, sheets rumpled. A late night in all likelihood. 

Jackson wanted to know what Danny thought about; what he dreamed of. Jackson wanted to share in his mind, determined it was safer than his. The thought was pushed aside as he removed his shirt, undoing his pants, boxers the only shred of clothing left, and it was too much, but Jackson faltered. Danny hadn't moved from his spot against the wall. Jackson moved toward him, each step deliberate to make Danny assess him—want him. 

Danny held his breath as Jackson removed his shirt, the cool air nipping at him like a pack of wild dogs, he trembled. Jackson offered a distraction from the cold, hands working roughly to remove Danny's belt, never losing eye contact. Danny's head tilted back as Jackson palmed him through his briefs, sliding to his knees as he mouthed the bulge trapped between the thin layer of material. Danny's fingers threaded through Jackson's well quaffed hair, causing the other to groan in response. Jackson slid Danny's briefs just below his thighs, mesmerized at how hard Danny was for him, dick jutting up towards his abdomen. 

The ticking grew louder and more prominent as he lazily placed a kiss to each of Danny's hip bones, enjoying the way his heart stopped then stuttered back to life. Taking the head of Danny's dick into his mouth brought a roaring sensation, like ocean waves moving then retreating and then repeating the process all over again. The broken cry of his name on Danny's tongue as he worked further down drove Jackson to press harder, make him want this—want him. Jackson took himself in hand at the same time he flicked his tongue over Danny's slit. The urge to pull Danny forward was stifled as Jackson could see that his nails were no longer nails, but claws. 

Jackson pulled back, urging the monster to stay hidden beneath the layers of skin, tendon, muscle and bone. A mixture of saliva and pre-come adorned his lips, eyes wide and shining with fear, desperation, and need. Jackson took a deep breath, hands pulling Danny forward, claws retracted, mouth pressing soft kisses and sharp nips to Danny's abdomen. “I can't,” he said. “I need you.”

“Tell me what's going on,” Danny said, hand cradling Jackson's cheek, providing comfort long denied. 

“I'm not all right,” Jackson said, standing to his feet on unsteady legs. 

“I can see that, Jackson. Tell me what's wrong,” Danny said, eyes full of concern. Jackson wanted to sob as something pushed and pulled, attempting to escape, take him away, make him forget. 

“I will. I swear I will. After,” Jackson said, sliding his tongue over Danny's bottom lip, willing him to let it go. “After.”

“ _After_ ,” Danny said, voice soft, breath warm against Jackson's lips. There was a doubtful connotation to the word used, but Jackson couldn't be bothered. He needed the now in their arrangement. 

“Okay,” Danny said, and it was because he understood. Jackson was in trouble, and the only person he could come to, the only person who would help him willingly, with almost no questions asked, was him. 

Jackson's skin burned, ignited by the lack of touch. A low whimper escaped his mouth, fingers tangled in the messy sheets of Danny's bed as the other moved behind him, placing hesitant kisses along his prominent spine. Jackson's knees positioned apart, his back arched, and thighs taunt. Danny reached over the side of the bed, producing a bottle of what Jackson could only assume was lube. The scent was subtle, sensation slick as Danny spread him open and apart. 

Danny's mouth brushed against the top of Jackson's ear, causing his eyes to flutter shut, color cycling between blue and gold; human and something unspeakable. Jackson dug the blunt of his nails deeper into the mattress, retaining control. “Are you sure?” Danny asked, his tone thoughtful, caring. 

“Yes,” Jackson said, the most honest he had ever been. Danny placed a kiss along the flesh of his shoulder blade, finger sliding along the cleft of Jackson's ass, pressure prominent as he finally pressed forward, sliding in. 

Jackson bit the inside of his cheek, a tinge of copper prominent on his tongue. His head dropped forward, hips shifting backward. The desire for more revamped as Danny added a second finger, free hand sliding up Jackson's back, threading through his hair as he raised him up. Full lips pressed to the side of Jackson's neck, perfect mouth anchoring symmetrical contusions across his skin. Jackson held on, three fingers deep as he cried out for more.

“My _parents_ ,” Danny said, a warning note in his pitch. The control he had maintained up until that point chipping away, leaving him raw and vulnerable to such a faux pas as to have his parents catch him in the midst of sex. Jackson loved it, wanted more of it. 

“Don't care,” Jackson said, turning his head to the side in order to silence him with a kiss. Danny deepened the venture, tongue gliding against Jackson's as he pressed flush against his back. Danny's breath hitched in his throat, needy noise ripping itself from his throat. Danny moved Jackson to lay flat against the bed, raising his hips just so. 

The knot in Jackson's chest eased as Danny took his time, every press, every caress of skin allowing Jackson the freedom to breathe. Danny's hands were large, callused from years of practice, and they held Jackson up, touched him the way he needed. The sound of skin on skin drowned out the ever present ticking, holding time still as Danny's rhythm persisted—measured and unrelenting. Danny groaned as Jackson met him thrust for thrust, mouth swollen and lips bitten red. Jackson's hand reached back, digging into the flesh of Danny's thigh as the tension mounted within his stomach, coiled and then released. 

Danny choked back a groan, arms almost giving out as he continued to move, drive Jackson's body though he had nothing left. One last toss of his hips, and Danny came undone, pulling out of Jackson with a tenderness in great contradiction with his previous animal-like behavior. Jackson sat up, tension drained from his body. Danny was breathing hard, and when Jackson took him in, he could see why. Jackson's control had lapsed during some point, claws instead of blunt nails tearing through the flesh of Danny's thigh. 

“I'm sorry,” Jackson said, face pale. Without thinking, he grabbed his shirt left abandoned on the floor, and used it to stop the bleeding. “Sorry.”

Danny's eyes were wide, but not substantially, as though a suspicion had been confirmed. “It's okay. It's okay, it'll stop. I'll take a shower,” he said, even though Jackson kept his eyes trained on the spot of his shirt where the blood seeped above the surface. 

Jackson didn't hesitate, lifting Danny into his arms before moving them to the bathroom. The cold water surging from the faucet eased the silence. Jackson believed he could have done better, been better than to inflict pain. The heat, his heat, was too much. Death would have been more favorable. 

“Jackson, it's okay,” Danny said, hand sliding up the back of Jackson's arm, urging the other teen to follow him in. Jackson rested his chin upon Danny's shoulder as the water ran cold, neither moving, it wasn't often he was affectionate; every moment counted twice as much because of this. Danny said it was okay, but that wasn't true, nothing in Jackson's life was ever okay. From the day he was born until the day he died, nothing in his life would be okay. Except, Jackson thought, for Danny. 

The drive to be better than everyone else, more than what others could be had been his folly. Jackson was a miserable, self loathing creature, trapped in a situation he couldn't control. A downward spiral, a constant downward spiral, shrouding his every sense. Answers to questions Jackson didn't have, but Danny never asked questions. That was the beautiful thing about their relationship, Jackson could stand naked, held up against him when he was too weak to stand on his own, and he could pass off the tears he shed as the water that fell above their heads, that washed over their naked bodies even though they were warm and the water was cold—Danny would never say.


End file.
